


Bajoran-Human Relations With a Splash of Romulan Ale

by Arenoptara



Series: Jearmin Week 2014 [5]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Star Trek, Drunkenness, Jearmin Week, M/M, Wedding, bajoran!Armin, post-dominion war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arenoptara/pseuds/Arenoptara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean hates weddings. But he's obligated to go to his father's friend--and also Fleet Admiral's--wedding to a cardassian gul--an historic occasion. It seems to be going just as boring as expected until he meets an adorable bajoran lieutenant named Arlert Armin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bajoran-Human Relations With a Splash of Romulan Ale

“I hate weddings,” Jean groaned to himself amidst the applause. The happy couple would spend the next couple of hours mindlessly chatting with people they had probably never seen and wouldn't see again. And somewhere in that mix would be Jean, all too formal while Admiral Smith was far too informal and his new cardassian husband gave him a look that could sour milk. If the universe went according to plan, of course.

“Buffet though!” Sasha said next to him. As soon as it was announced she was out of her seat and over to stuff her face with the best food high-ranking officials in the military could get, so better than anything Jean had ever had. After months of replicated food and drink it _would_ be glorious.

It took Jean a little longer to follow her. There were too many things to choose from, so he closed his eyes and then picked at random. His choice was a cardassian nut cake that didn't taste half-bad, but he wouldn't willingly choose it again. He skipped the food and ordered a Risan mai-tai from the barkeep, then stood at the far end of the open bar where the least amount of people stood. He absentmindedly sipped at his cocktail while listening to the orchestra play a famous cardassian symphony.

“What's that?” someone asked during the third movement.

“Huh?” Jean looked over and down at a blond bajoran lieutenant who was undoubtedly holding a bottle of Slug-o-Cola in his hand and smiling pleasantly. Something about his facial structure made the nose ridges cuter than he'd ever seen on a bajoran. 

Not that he'd seen many bajorans, being stationed on Spacedock most of his Starfleet career. Another reason to get a listing on a spaceship. Now was probably the perfect time, seeing as the negative aftereffects of the Dominion War had waned enough to be out of sight and mind, and relations with other races, especially the cardassians, were at an all-time high.

“Hello?” The bajoran waved and Jean snapped his attention back to his wonderful face.

“Uh . . .” He lifted his drink a little. “Risan mai-tai. Nothing incredible. And that's . . . Slug-o-Cola?” He weakly raised an eyebrow.

The bajoran grinned. “Slimiest cola in the galaxy. Every bottle is guaranteed to contain 43% live algae. You ever been to Ferenginar?”

“Can't say that I have,” Jean said. He turned just as someone walked by and his mai-tai spilled all over the arm of the bajoran's dress uniform. “Ah, shit, sorry,” Jean said, reaching for some napkins while the blond dabbed a saliva-coated finger on the red-stained fabric. Next thing he knew, Jean had stuffed ten napkins in his face.

“It's all right--” The bajoran gave the napkins to Jean, trading them for the remainder of Jean's mai-tai. He took a sip and nodded his head. “Anyway, I can just replicate a new one. Actually, my ship's stopping by Cardassia Prime for a few days before we head out, and I know a great tailor there.”

“Are you sure?” Jean asked, eying his mai-tai. They were free anyway. He moved an arm to call the bartender, but the bajoran pushed his hand down with his bottle of Slug-o-Cola.

“Trade?”

Insides writhing, but mind unable to refuse the too adorable bajoran, Jean curled his fingers around the cola. To save himself, and to get back to mind-numbing alcohol, Jean finished it in one giant gulp. He also fought his gag reflex, all the while keeping a straight face.

The blond smiled in amusement.

Great power was required to wash the slime of the cola away, so he went for the Romulan ale. Thank God they had it. The bartender gave him a wink and set it on the counter for him. Jean took a sip and instantly relaxed.

The bajoran finished the mai-tai and asked for a mug. Jean watched with wide eyes as he dipped it into the barrel of blood wine at the end of the bar nearby. This face liked Slug-o-Cola and blood wine. _This bajoran is not to be trifled with. Does he also like kanar?_ The thought made Jean sick so he took another sip of ale to cleanse.

“Legate Ackerman is fond of blood wine,” the bajoran said, glancing at the bitch-faced cardassian standing next to his foot-taller blond Starfleet husband. He had a mug of it in his hand already.

Jean smiled at him. “So what's your name and ship?”

“Lieutenant Arlert Armin of the U.S.S. Maria,” he said.

“Damn. This is your ship? How'd you land a post on the flagship?” Jean took another swig and closed his eyes to savor the burn.

Armin shrugged. “I guess they thought I was skilled enough.”

“Don't tell me: you simply aced all your classes at the Academy?”

“Well I did, besides the physical ones. But I only got salutatorian,” Armin said with a critical frown.

“You didn't mistake a preganglionic fiber for a postganglionic nerve, did you?”

“What?”

“Nothing. Just met someone with a story like that. Still, you must be pretty smart.” Jean smiled again.

Armin just shrugged. “What about you?”

“Huh?”

“Name? I don't want to have to call you the Human With The Strangely Endearing Haircut after this.”

Subconsciously, Jean ran a hand through his hair. “Jean Kirschtein. Security officer on Spacedock and a couple years on a scientific research camp on Terellia. Much funner than weddings, even if there is replicated food. I'll have to go talk to the admiral soon before this alcohol makes a fool out of me.” He sighed and then took a drink.

“I'm not much for weddings either. But you know, this is an historic day.”

“How so?”

“It's not the first cardassian-human wedding, but the other was between civilians,” Armin said, eyebrows coming together critically. “This is between a cardassian legate and a Starfleet admiral. This could go a long way in cardassian-human relations. Take for instance--”

_Jesus, this is more boring than the actual wedding. But he seems enthusiastic. Maybe I'll just stare at his face . . . He's got a nice face. Especially when he's all serious like this._

“Mm,” he said every once in awhile to make it appear he was listening. The other once in a whiles he took sips of his ale, realized too late he had only eaten that weird cardassian cake, so his stomach wasn't full enough to adequately process this alcohol. But he still got another, holding up a finger to Armin while he ordered it—Armin smiled at him in amusement again and then continued his spiel.

_He has to know I'm not listening, right?_

_The way his hair moves when he tilts his head is remarkable. I wonder what product he uses . . ._

“Right?” Armin asked.

“Right,” Jean said forcefully—well, he thought so, but it came out more whiny and breathy.

_His eyes are the same color as this ale._

“But even so, I read a paper the other day published by Dr. Shran that brought up an interesting point in the Federation involvement with the ex-Maquis worlds post-Dominion War and how that affected--”

_The way his bottom lip moves when he says the word “Dominion” . . ._

_Is he laughing at me? God, he must totally know I'm not listening._

He took another sip.

_Man, I didn't mean to drink this much._

_I like the curve of his nose. The cliché exists solely for him. Button nose. I wonder if he's heard it._

Armin moved his hand in the air as he expressed a particular point, long fingers positioned like he was about to perform some intricate spell. He said something about a disagreement between a cardassian gul and a tellarite captain.

“That's how Legate Ackerman and Admiral Smith met. They settled everything before--”

 _Thank God for that tellarite captain and cardassian gul or I wouldn't be able to admire the way you push your hair behind your left ear. Or is that right?_ Jean looked down at his hands for a second. The drink was over there and he was right-handed and if you flipped that because Armin was facing the other way--

“Jean!”

Armin stopped talking and looked over. A second later so did Jean when he remembered his name was Jean and that was Admiral Erwin Smith's voice. _Shit. The universe is not going according to plan already._

“Admiral,” Jean greeted with a smile.

The admiral smiled, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Enjoying yourself? I'm sorry your father couldn't make it.”

“So am I,” Jean said. _Then he could do all the talking._ He risked a glance at Legate Levi Ackerman who was risking his own glances at Armin who was smiling pleasantly again and staring at Erwin.

“He's hiking on Andoria isn't he? On a geological survey?” Erwin asked.

 _He's recreationally hiking with his andorian fiancee under the guise of a geological survey. I think the only thing he'll be surveying is her. Jesus, don't think about that._ “Yes, sir, he is,” Jean said, gripping his glass tighter so he didn't drop it.

“Is Arlert a friend of yours?”

Jean's eyes widened a little and he tried to find appropriate words but Armin saved him.

“We've just met sir. We've been discussing cardassian and Federation relations since the end of the Dominion War.”

“How fascinating,” Levi commented with unsuppressed sarcasm.

_Ah, we have something in common._

“But you'd know all about that, right, Admiral?” Jean said.

Everyone stared at him.

_God dammit, Jean._

But Levi cracked the tiniest smile. “He's quite an expert.”

_Oh God, change the subject . . ._

The band began playing a new song and luckily it caught Erwin's attention. “Ah, Mozart. My favorite. Excuse me, men. I believe I have a dance waiting for me.” He took Levi's arm and they headed to the dance floor.

“Jesus Christ, what's wrong with me?” Jean asked when they were out of ear shot.

Armin laughed. “Maybe you should sit down and go easy on the ale.”

“Too late,” Jean said as Armin took him to a table near the windows. Jean set his ale on the table and sunk into the cushions. “Ah, I'm drunk.”

“Yes you are.”

He stole another sip. “Have you even drunk that?” He nodded to the blood wine.

“A little. But I'm not in the mood to get intoxicated. I have a shift at 0500 and you won't be able to walk out of here without help at the rate you're going. I'm designating myself your personal emergency friend.”

Jean groaned. “Did I mention I dislike weddings?”

“I only find bajoran weddings to hold any entertainment.”

“Ever been to a klingon wedding?”

“No. You?”

Jean just laughed. “Oh God I love klingons.”

“Just not their booze.”

“I've heard Bajor is nice,” Jean said, trying to keep his eyes in focus.

Armin contemplated that. “It's like a quieter Earth.”

Jean leaned his elbows on the table. “I officially start my leave after this thing. Maybe I'll catch a shuttle planet side. Mm, did you ever--”

A waiter came up and asked if they wanted anything. Armin ordered a klingon martini and insisted against Jean's third glass of ale. Jean gave him a dry stare until the waitress came back with the martini.

“Did you ever go camping in the southwest American desert?” Jean finished saying.

Armin shook his head.

_The most graceful hair . . . Should be illegal . . . like this ale . . ._

“I visited the Grand Canyon, but I never camped out,” Armin said. “It was abs--”

“We should go camping one time. Monument Valley,” Jean said and took a huge gulp of air.

Armin made a curious smile. “Okay . . .”

Jean spent the next hour gushing drunkenly about the right way to camp—none of that modern technology crap—until his head smashed against the table and Armin helped him up. Jean's quarters were aboard Deep Space Nine, so Armin followed his instructions for 20 minutes until he finally found them and set him carefully on his couch.

“Oh God. My head,” Jean groaned. “I need a raktajino . . .” He tried to get up but Armin pushed him back down.

“I'll get it.”

Jean listened to him order and then already started feeling better when the smell hit him. He sat up and took the raktajino with a thank you and took a tender sip.

“I know you got an early shift, but you wanna stay for awhile? I'll sober up quick. It's one of my only virtues. If you can call it a virtue. Yes you can. I've decided you can. So it's a virtue. A virtue of mine.”

“Ah, what are the other ones?” Armin asked, sitting on the other couch across from the coffee table.

Jean put a finger to his lips. “You'll have to unlock that information, lieutenant.”

Armin's eyebrows raised. “What will a coffee earn me?”

“One. One virture,” Jean said. He cleared his throat. “Virtue.”

The blond shook his head but ordered a raktajino for himself. He stared down into its depths warily.

Jean looked at the coffee then at Armin. “You ever had a raktajino? You drink blood wine but never klingon coffee?'

“Well, I don't like the smell of coffee. Klingon, vulcan, or human.” He dragged the spoon over the top of the whipped cream. He lifted the cup to his mouth and gently blew on it.

“It's the best of the coffees.” Jean encouraged him by taking a large swig of his—and burning his tongue. He cursed, which didn't exactly inspire confidence in Armin by his leery expression so Jean lamely followed the curse up with a, “Shit. This is so good.”

Armin cracked a smile. He said something in Bajoran and then took a sip. That adorable face contorted into the most disgusted shape. Utter revulsion never looked so stunning. Jean burst out into drunken laughter as Armin gave him a bitch face that could even rival Levi's. And that too of course managed to look carved by angels.

_Oh man. I'm . . . wasted._

But he only managed to stop when he saw Armin guzzle the whole thing down, just like Jean with the Slug-o-Cola. His body gave one great spasm and then he took in a huge lungful of air. “All right. A virtue?”

Jean just stared at him slack-jawed.

“Don't tell me you have none now.” Armin leaned back, arms slung over the length of the couch.

Quickly, Jean took a long sip of his coffee. _I didn't actually expect him to bite. Fuck, what are my virtures—virtues?_ When he lowered the mug, he said, “Um . . . I suppose . . . I'm loyal?”

“Well that's boring,” Armin said.

Jean blinked. “Well, vultures often are.”

Armin grinned. “I'm just kidding. So say your friend rushes off into a wild klingon party or enters a bar fight with some nausicaans, would you go with him?”

“Um . . . honestly, I'd probably be the one starting a bar fight . . . but that's besides the point.”

“You know, you remind me of a friend of mine.”

Jean frowned without meaning to. _Another me in competition?_ He shook his head. _Competition? For what? That adorable nose . . ._ “Bajoran?”

“No, human. I met him at the Academy. His dad's a doctor there and I had a training accident one day. Anyway . . .” Armin breathed in. “What about a third vulture, if you have that many?”

“Virtue,” Jean corrected and Armin fought back a smile. He smirked. “What about one of yours?” More than that, though, Jean wanted to see what other wonders Armin's face could pull off. That was the most important. “You ever tried root beer?”

“I've been offered dozens of times, but I don't like bubbles. I know, I know, bajoran ale has bubbles, and I don't like that. I don't have high hopes for root beer.”

“Another virtue comes at the price of one bottle of root beer,” Jean said. He tried to get up—he really did, but his body preferred to lazily drape itself over the actually uncomfortable couch. Cardassian furniture sucked. His bed—the only thing that could make that better was-- _Don't think about it, Jean. Or you'll ask him and that would just be--_

“Only if you try your precious coffee with root beer in it. I think that's a fair compromise if you insist on torturing me.”

The blond was already up ordering before Jean had even agreed. Next thing he knew, a martini glass filled with bubbly coffee greeted his sight and it took a few seconds for him to navigate his hand up to grab it. Armin surprised him by sitting on the couch beside him.

“Prophets save me,” he said. “Together?”

“Uh, sure.” Slowly, Jean straightened himself up and held the martini glass in front of him. “Should we toast to something?”

Armin chuckled. “Sure. To . . . improved cardassian-Federation relations!” He tinked his bottle with Jean's glass. They both swallowed at the same time, and while Armin was making inhuman noises, Jean was downing his beverage because _damn_ it was good.

He let out a satisfied breath. “To human-bajoran relations, more like.”

Armin choked and bubbles came out his nose. While he blinked away tears, Jean laughed his ass off. “One of my virtues includes laughing when I'm probably not supposed to.”

When Armin had recovered, he snorted, “That's not a virtue.”

“Well, I didn't get salutatorian in my class,” Jean said. He looked over at Armin's uniform which now bore some brown root beer stains on its front. “If you pass anyone in the corridors, at least they'll know you had a good time.”

“Mmm, yeah,” Armin said. He took another sip, closed his eyes tight, and waited for the disgust to pass. “I don't think I want to take the time to get to like this. The concept of acquired tastes has never appealed to. It's like forcing yourself to tolerate something, and then trick yourself into liking it.”

“That's one way of looking at it. I prefer to think of it as getting your body to see the light, as it were.” He finished the rest of his potion and then set it on the table. “Or conversion to a higher and funner form of life.”

Armin gleamed. “Then maybe after some time you'll like blood wine.”

Jean frowned. “That's not an acquired taste.”

“How would you know?” Armin lifted an eyebrow and accompanied it with a mischievous smile. “Anyway, you wanted to know one of my virtues. Well, I can safely say one of them is not honesty.”

“You can't say what virtue you don't possess. That's not how this works.”

Armin looked off to the side, thinking. “Okay, then one of my virtues is seeing the good in people. No matter who they may be. No matter how they may try to cover it up. Or . . .” He shook his bottle, watching the contents slosh around. “If they can't see it themselves.” He let out a little amused puff of air from his nose and then looked at Jean with a smile. “It does get difficult when it comes to cardassians, but I'd like to say I'm more open minded than most bajorans.”

“If you can see the good in people, then why are you asking me my virtues? Can't you see them for yourself?” Jean challenged.

“It's funner to ask you. Sometimes I just want to talk with someone, you know, rather than open them up and see what they're made of.” Armin flinched. “Sorry, that came out much darker than I intended.”

But Jean laughed. “It doesn't bother me. Maybe that's a sign I should be getting to bed. You too. You have an early shift.”

“I'll be half-alive tomorrow, but . . . it was worth it.” He took a deep breath and then guzzled the rest of the root beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His whole body convulsed and then he leaned forward and slapped the bottle on the table. “I had a good time. Weddings are all right when you have someone interesting to spend it with.”

“I'll drink to that.” Jean grabbed his empty martini glass and lifted it up in a fake toast. He even tipped it back and drank some invisible liquid.

Armin got to his feet and wandered over to the door, taking his sweet time so that Jean could clear his head enough to stand up and join him. They stood at the door, Armin with his hands behind his back, smiling the tiniest bit up at Jean, who leaned over Armin, an arm against the wall to keep him steady.

“I'll invite you again next time we cross paths,” Jean said, taking in the features of Armin's beautiful face while he still had time. Knowing him, he'd forget over the long run, and he didn't want to this time. He'd make the effort. Armin was that cute. It was a big galaxy, but Jean would make time to meet up with him again. As soon as the blond was gone, Jean would put in an alarm for tomorrow so he wouldn't forget.

The bajoran glanced away. “I'd like that.” 

When his eyes came back that suggestive sparkle nearly killed Jean. His fist pressed harder into the wall to keep up. It was so much that Jean leaned forward, ready to kiss him. But before he could, he saw Armin had duck away out the door, giggling as he went. The door closed right in his face, substituting as the target of Jean's kiss. His nose smashed flat and he kind of just let his face sit there against the door. Then he pulled back.

“Computer,” he said loudly.

It beeped in acknowledgment.

“Set an alarm for 0800 hours this morning with the message 'Don't forget the blondie.'”

“Alarm set.”

Jean grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Collab with breezy!


End file.
